


Philophobia

by bookinit



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Richie Tozier Needs a Hug, Soft Richie Tozier, elements of non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:14:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24675949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookinit/pseuds/bookinit
Summary: phil-o-phobia (n).the overwhelming, irrational fear of falling in love.—When the Losers club had gathered around and came clean about It, about the leper and Georgie and the lady from Stan’s painting, well. Richie thought about the day at the arcade. He thought about the taunting. He thought about Eddie.He said, “Can only virgins see this shit?”They had said, “Come on, Richie. What are you scared of? What do you see?”He replied, “Clowns.”If only they fucking knew.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 14
Kudos: 146





	Philophobia

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys! I promise I am still working on my Spider-Man WIP, the next chapter is almost up! I’ve just hit a bit of an unmotivated streak, unfortunately. But this concept grabbed me and would not let go, and I wrote it almost entirely in one sitting like a woman possessed. These two boys will have my heart forever, I swear. 
> 
> Anyways, this does have a more serious tone than some of my other fics and there are some light sexual scenes that are non-consensual, and not in a kinky way. Nothing explicit, but the boys are 12/13 in this and if that bothers you, you don’t have to read it.
> 
> With that in mind, happy reading!

**phil-o-phobia** (n). 

the overwhelming, irrational fear of falling in love. 

***

Richie’s down by the Barrens. He’s the first one there — no sign of Bill, or Stan, or any of the others. They’re supposed to meet up to talk about It. That is, the stupid fucking clown that’s been torturing them for the past month. The stupid fucking clown that killed Bill’s little brother. Bill may still have hope that Georgie’s still alive, but the rest of them know the truth. They just don’t know how to break it to him — how are you supposed to tell your best friend that his baby brother is dead? You don’t, is the answer. It’s the kindest thing the Losers club can give Bill right now: hope. Even if it is false. 

Anyways, Richie doesn’t even know what the point of this dumb meeting is. To figure out how to, what, _kill_ the thing? How are seven preteen losers that get beat up by regular, _human_ bullies supposed to kill a demon clown that’s been eating kids for hundreds of years? Bullshit. Big Bill’s lost his mind. Richie doesn’t exactly blame him, though. He feels like he’s losing his mind, too— if not for an entirely different reason. 

It’s — Well, it’s Eddie. 

Richie is almost thirteen, an official teenager, which means he’s supposed to start kissing girls and taking them to movies and maybe touch their boobs if they let him. Richie knows he’s supposed to do all this because the other boys have started talking about it. Not just the Losers, either — almost everyone at their school. But between the triple-B love triangle (Bill, Ben, and Bev), and Peter Kravinsky in math talking about how to peep up girls skirts, Richie can’t escape the world of _girls_. 

So Richie’s been changing up his joke material, been working in _your mom_ jokes and _I fucked your sister_ jokes, even though he hasn’t done anything of the sort. 

Even though he doesn’t want to. 

And that’s the kicker, isn’t it? All school year, Richie was waiting patiently for his hormones to kick in. He was waiting for the day he would wake up and suddenly be obsessed with chasing skirts and lusting after cheerleaders. He was waiting for the day he would be able to join in on the jokes about fucking girls and actually feel like he _belonged._

That day never came. 

Instead, fall turned into spring, and spring turned into summer. And summer changed _everything._ It changed with a simple fact, one that blew over Richie and shattered his expectations. 

It changed when, one day, Richie looked over at Eddie and felt his heart lurch in his chest. It changed when the thought came to his mind and never left. _I love him._

Now, that sounds cheesy as fuck. Richie’s aware. 

But it’s true. God help him, it’s fucking true. 

Instead of noticing girls, Richie started noticing Eddie. He’d been friends with Eddie for years, but he’d never _noticed_ him before. Not in the way he did now. He had never noticed the way his stupid red shorts were way too short. He’d never noticed the way his eyes were solid pools of caramel, the way he seemed to look right into Richie’s soul. He’d never noticed the way he made him feel. 

It scared the shit out of him. 

More than anything, it scared him. More than the teenage werewolf from the movies, more than spiders, more than _clowns._

So when the Losers club had gathered around and came clean about It, about the leper and Georgie and the lady from Stan’s painting, well. Richie thought about the day at the arcade. He thought about the taunting. He thought about Eddie. 

He said, _“Can only virgins see this shit?”_

They had said, _“Come on Richie. What are you scared of? What do you see?”_

He replied, _“Clowns.”_

If only they fucking knew. 

  
  


***

After a solid ten minutes of trying (and failing) to skip rocks across the stream, Richie heard a rustling in the bushes. _Finally._

“Hey, what took you so long, dickwad?” he’s yelling before he even sees who it is. When he fully turns around, his heart skips a beat. It’s Eddie, because of course it is. Richie’s surprised he was even late, what with the color-coded schedule Richie’s convinced he carried around in that fanny pack of his. 

Eddie gives a smile in response. “Got lost.” 

Richie furrows his eyebrows. How could Eddie have gotten lost? They’ve been to the Barrens a million times; they practically live here. 

“ _Okayy,_ weirdo,” Richie responds, shaking off the strange feeling. Maybe Eddie was just tired or something. “You getting enough sleep, Eds?” He waits for the inevitable response. _Don’t call me Eds._

It doesn’t come. Eddie just rolls his eyes and walks over to him, sitting down. “I’m getting 8 hours a night, Richie. You know that.” Richie scoots a few inches away from him because 1) his heart can’t handle the proximity and their bare legs are _almost touching_ and 2) something is off. Richie’s not sure what, but he’s getting a weird feeling. One he’s never really had around Eddie before. 

“Of course I know, Eds. Gettin’ all your beauty sleep, and all that.” He stops himself before he makes a joke about Eddie being beautiful, because it hits a little too close to home. He peers at Eddie for a second, trying to figure out what’s wrong. After a second, he tries, “You just don’t seem like yourself, is all. Everything okay?” The question comes out much more sincere than he intended. 

Eddie returns his gaze, staring straight into his eyes. “I’m fine, Richie.” He looks up at him from under his lashes. “Just a little nervous, I guess.” For a second, Eddie’s gaze falls to his lips, and flickers back up to his eyes. Richie’s heart beats double-time. Any weird vibes he was getting off Eddie are forgotten. 

He licks his lips, mouth suddenly very dry. “W- What are you nervous about, Eds?” His heart is beating so loud he almost wonders if Eddie can hear it. Eddie places a small hand on Richie’s shoulder, rubs it a few times. Slowly, he rises up on his knees, and swings a leg over Richie’s lap. He sits so he’s straddling him. Richie’s mind is a melted puddle of goop. _What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck._ He tries not to pop a boner in two seconds flat, but he’s not sure he’s succeeding. He desperately hopes Eddie doesn’t notice, in case this is all some elaborate prank. 

Eddie slowly leans forward, so his mouth is next to Richie’s ear. “Some of the guys have been talking, Rich. They’ve been telling me things.” Richie can hardly think, but he tries to follow the conversation. “What, um. What are they saying?” It comes out as a whisper. Eddie shifts on his lap. Richie bites his lip and tries to think about baseball statistics. 

Eddie leans in so close that their lips are almost touching. Richie can feel his breath on his face. “They’re saying,” he whispers, eyes trained on Richie’s face, “that you’re gay, Richie.” Richie violently startles, almost knocking Eddie off his lap. Eddie steadies him with a hand on his shoulder, nails digging in just a little bit. “They’re saying that you want me, Richie,” he continues. “Like this.” He trails a hand down Richie’s chest, snaking it under his shirt. Richie can’t breathe. Since when was Eddie so confident? Since when did Eddie like guys — like _him?_

Eddie’s eyes lock onto his. He can’t look away — they’re so _bright._ “Is it true, Richie?” he whispers. Richie can’t answer. He can’t look away from his eyes. They look like lights. Like the kind of lights Eddie has strung around his room. Like the stars, on a dark night. Richie’s transfixed. 

Distantly, he can feel Eddie’s nails on his chest. They’re scratching him, and it hurts a little. He hears the sound of voices, in the distance, but he can’t be bothered to care. Not when Eddie’s right in front of him, and everything he ever wanted is coming true, he’s so _beautiful—_

 _“Richie! Stop!”_ Richie jerks out of his trance, whirling around to see Stan burst into the clearing. He’s panting, his hands on his knees, and his eyes are wide, looking directly past Richie. Richie, panicking, looks back at Eddie. He’s — _gone._ What the fuck?

A second later, the rest of the Losers run up behind Stan, including Eddie. Oh. That’s — wait. Jesus _fucking_ Christ. Richie wipes at his lap where Eddie — where _Pennywise_ had just been sitting. His skin is crawling. 

Eddie speaks up. “We saw It on the way here. Are you okay? Did you see It?” He’s panting a little from running, pulling out his inhaler as he speaks. 

Richie looks at Stan. Tries to telepathically communicate with him. _Don’t tell them. Pease._ Stan must see the desperation on his face, because his eyes soften. He gives a nearly imperceptible nod. 

Richie stands up, making his way over to them. “Nah, ol’ Pennywise didn’t drop by. Guess he had better things to do.” Eddie looks relieved, but Bill narrows his eyes. 

“W- w- was anyone e-else here? W-we heard v-voices.” Richie laughs, a little too loud. 

“Just talking to myself, Big Bill.” Bill still looks suspicious. 

“S-Stan told you t-to s-stop. W-what were you d-doing?” 

Richie smirks. “Just had a date with my right hand, Billy, if you know what I mean. I might have offended Stan’s _delicate_ Jewish sensibilities.” He offers a big wink and makes a big show of buttoning his pants back up (the ones that _It_ had unbuttoned, Jesus). He’s met with a loud chorus of _ews_ and fake vomiting. Perfect. Suspicion gone. 

When he works up the courage to look at Stan, he doesn’t look disgusted, or angry. He just looks sad. While the others are still making fun of Richie, Stan puts a hand on his shoulder and whispers, “Come talk to me later.” Richie swallows and nods jerkily. Stan pats his shoulder once, then heads off to the clubhouse. The rest of them follow in tow, Richie and Eddie falling in line towards the back. 

Eddie looks at him. “You sure you’re okay, Rich?” He looks like he’s considering something. “You know, if you saw something— like, clowns, or whatever, it’s okay.”

Richie looks at him — at his non-glowing, perfectly normal eyes — and realizes what an idiot he is. Of course Eddie would never want him like that. Of course he sees him as a friend, and nothing more. Perfect, beautiful Eddie would never look at him like that. 

Richie laughs, rustling Eddie’s hair. Eddie yanks his hand off. “You better have washed that, dickwad.” He pulls out a mini hand sanitizer from his fanny pack and hands it over wordlessly. Richie feels his heart thud painfully in his chest. 

Eddie, sanitizing his own hands now, continues, “I mean, seriously, Rich. I mean it. We’re all scared of this shit. You’re not alone.” He looks up at Richie, eyes wide and sincere. Richie could fall right into them. 

He laughs it off, the only way he knows how. “Of course I’m not alone, Eds. I have your mom to keep me company.” He makes a lewd thrusting gesture with his hips, and tries not to think about Eddie’s weight on his lap. Tries not to think about Eddie’s hand on his chest. 

Eddie punches him lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t call me Eds, asshole.”

  
  


***

Two weeks and one truly uncomfortable conversation with Stan later, Richie’s on an Eddie detox. That is, he hasn’t been alone with him since The Incident. Honestly, he’s scared that it’ll happen again. He had almost been _eaten_ because he was thinking with his dick instead of his brain. He had known something was off, but It had distracted him enough that he didn’t care. God, he was an idiot. 

He’s yanked out of his thoughts with the sound of the phone ringing. “Richie, it’s for you!” his mom calls out. He races downstairs and yanks the phone off the wall. “Thank you for calling the Tozier residence. How can I assist you on this fine morn’?” 

“Knock it off with the British guy, Rich. You sound like you have something stuck up your nose.”

Richie laughs. “Hey, Eds. What’s up?”

“Don’t call me Eds, jerk. Anyways, I feel like I haven’t seen you in a while. You wanna go see a movie or something?” 

Shit. This is exactly the type of thing Richie was trying to avoid. Usually being alone with Eddie would be a dream come true, but Richie’s still a little traumatized from The Incident. 

“I just saw you yesterday, Eddie! Miss me already?” he jokes. 

“No, I know, but everyone else was there, too. We haven’t hung out with just us in a while.”

Richie’s silent a beat too long. 

“Unless... you don’t want to hang out? You’re not mad at me, right?” A note of insecurity creeps into Eddie’s voice. “Did I do something wrong?”

Fuck. Richie can’t say no to that voice. 

“Of course not, Eddie. Just been busy, that’s all. Yeah, we can hang out.” Richie slaps a hand to his forehead, cursing himself and his dumb _feelings._

Eddie’s voice brightens. “Cool! They’re showing ‘I was a Teenage Werewolf’ tonight at seven. See you then?” 

Richie, despite himself, smiles. “See you then.”

  
  


***

When Richie arrives at the Aladdin, he’s on high Pennywise alert. So much as one weird feeling, and he’s getting the hell out of there. He has a perfect excuse all ready to go, even. Stomach flu. Works every time. 

Even with all that, Richie’s excited to see Eddie. Especially because, well, it’s almost like a date, isn’t it? If he shuts his eyes and pretends. He can imagine that they’re in a different world, where there’s no demonic clown, nothing against two boys liking each other. A world where Eddie likes him back. 

Maybe, just for one night, he can pretend. 

He spots Eddie before Eddie spots him, strolling around the corner with a smile on his face. Richie lifts a hand to wave, and Eddie waves back happily when he spots him. So far, so good. 

He grins at Eddie as he walks up. “Hey, Eds. Guess your mom couldn’t make it, huh? What a shame.” He pouts exaggeratedly. 

Eddie shoves him playfully, responding, “Well, I was supposed to go out with _your_ mom tonight, but I got stuck with you instead. And don’t call me —”

“Eds, yeah, yeah. Sure thing, Eds,” Richie shoots back, laughing. Eddie seemed like — well, like _Eddie._ No glowing eyes, no seductive touching, no weird lack of sarcasm. But maybe Pennywise was just stepping up his acting game. Unlikely, but it was possible. 

After a brief scuffle over who was paying (Richie won), and some light pleading with the cashier that _yes,_ they were old enough to see a PG-13 movie, Richie and Eddie settled into their seats. Back row, with a bar to rest their feet on. _Sweet._ Richie notices the lack of people in the theater and thinks, somewhat nervously, that no one would notice if they kissed back here. If they held hands. 

But it’s not like Eddie would want that, anyways. 

Just to double check that the night would be Pennywise-free, Richie turns to Eddie and says, “Hey, you remember that night we went to Stan’s and you told that joke about birds?” It’s a little random, but it should do the trick. 

Eddie snorts. “What, and he laughed so hard chocolate milk came out of his nose? Yeah, of course I remember.” Richie, satisfied, slumps back in his seat. No Pennywise around to ruin his pretend-date, then. _Take that, you asshole,_ he thinks, wondering if It can hear him, wherever It is. 

Before he knows it, the house lights are dimming, and the movie starts up. Richie hadn’t told Eddie, but he’d already seen it two weeks before, with Bill and Stan. It had scared the ever-loving shit out of him, but he hadn’t told Eddie that either. Not that it matters, because Richie isn’t paying attention to the movie at all. Instead, he spends his time sneaking glances at Eddie, his profile barely visible in the dark. 

Their arms are only inches away from each other. If Richie just moved his arm a little bit... But he won’t. He was going to respect Eddie’s space, and try his hardest to be a good friend and not be weird. 

In Richie’s pretend world, they were holding hands. Or maybe Richie would throw an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and he would cuddle into him, trusting Richie to keep him safe from the monster in the movie. 

Richie glances over at Eddie, at the way he jumps in his seat a little every time there’s a jump scare. It’s cute as fuck. He leans over a little. “Scared, Eds?” he whispers. 

Eddie hits his arm. “Shut up and watch the movie, asshole,” he whispers back, although his whisper is significantly louder than Richie’s. Someone a few rows in front of them turns around to glare at them. Richie laughs. He still feels the lingering warmth from Eddie’s hand on his arm. 

A few minutes later, Eddie’s leaning over. “I’ll be right back,” he whispers. Richie nods solemnly. “Have a fantastic whiz, Eddie. Godspeed.” Eddie rolls his eyes and heads off. 

Without Eddie to distract him, Richie turns back to watch the movie. It isn’t as scary the second time around, he has to admit, and after a few minutes he finds himself enjoying it a little bit. 

That is, until the werewolf turns to look straight at the audience. Richie jumps in his seat. He doesn’t remember this part. 

The werewolf starts talking. “You know who I hate more than anything? You know who I _really_ want to rip apart?” Richie’s shaking. Fuck. “Boys who like other boys,” the werewolf continues. Richie looks around frantically, but no one else seems to notice anything wrong. They’re watching the movie with placid expressions, as if in a trance. 

“Richie Tozier is one of those boys,” the werewolf says, matter-of-factly. He’s stalking closer to the screen, and he looks like he’s about to walk right out. “He’s been sitting here, thinking about kissing his buddy!” _Oh shit oh shit ohshit._ Richie shrinks back in his seat. 

The werewolf starts to morph into Pennywise, slowly shaking his head. “Oh, Richie. What would poor Eds think, if he knew?” Richie, panicked, looks around the theater to make sure Eddie is still in the bathroom. No sign of him, thank God.

Pennywise starts coming out of the screen, walking up the stairs, towards Richie. Richie knows he should be moving, should be _running,_ but he’s too terrified to think. Pennywise walks right up to him, grabbing his shirt. Richie’s shaking. All he wanted was a pretend-date with Eddie, and now he’s going to die. Nice one, Richie. 

Pennywise looks at him with his horrible yellow eyes. “Oh Richie, are you _scared_ of me?” For a second, his face transforms into Eddie’s, and the voice that comes out is his. “We had such a good time last time we saw each other.” His eyes turn sad, an exaggerated pout on his lips. “I thought you loved me, Richie.”

Richie looks at him, transforming back to the clown, then to the werewolf. “Go to hell,” he says weakly. The werewolf laughs, all his teeth showing. His mouth opens wider and wider...

And suddenly he’s drenched with a large Coca-Cola, all his fur matted down. “Get away from him, asshole!” Eddie shouts. He grabs Richie’s hand, and they run. 

They run far, _far_ away. 

  
  


***

_“You saw It again? What did It look like?”_

Richie steadfastly does not look at Eddie. 

_“The teenage werewolf.”_

***

They’re at the house on Neibolt street, and Richie has had _enough._ He doesn’t care that they’re kids, he doesn’t care that they’ve been beat up by high schoolers and lost, he doesn’t care that they have no monster-killing experience whatsoever. He’s gonna kill this thing if it’s the last thing he ever does. 

It’s a shitfest, because of course it is. Eddie’s arm is broken, and he could have _died—_ could have died, right there, in that room, and Richie wouldn’t have even known. Jesus, he hates that clown. He hates it more than anything. 

They’re still in the house, trying to find the exit. Richie is glued to Eddie’s side, cradling his arm, not even caring that his touch might be seen as more than friendly, that he might be coming off as a little _too_ concerned. He doesn’t care. Stan already knows, and the rest of the Losers can think whatever they want. All that matters is Eddie. 

Which is why he throws an absolute _fit_ when Bill suggests splitting up. “Look, I’ll stay with Eddie, and you guys go look for an exit,” Richie tries. Stan gives him a sympathetic look. 

“Just go, Rich. I’ll be fine, and you’ll see me in like two minutes,” Eddie says softly, smiling weakly at him. 

And he can never say no to Eddie, can he?

So off he goes, looking for an exit because the house has turned itself inside out and if they don’t find a way out, they’ll be stuck here forever. Also because _someone_ had to go wandering around the house with Pennywise still on the loose, and Richie had drawn the short straw. 

He kicks at the floorboards as he walks, wishing more than anything that he was with Eddie right now. 

That makes it more than a little suspicious when Eddie magically turns up, down the hallway from him. Oh _hell_ no. Richie clutches his fence rod tighter in his hand. “I know who you are,” he calls out, teeth clenched. “You can’t fool me anymore.”

Eddie’s _(It’s)_ brow furrows. “What are you talking about, Richie? I just wanted to talk.” 

Richie glares at him. “Using the same trick twice? Really? Find someone else to pick on,” he yells. 

Eddie’s expression doesn’t change. If anything, he just looks more confused. “Richie, do you think I’m It? Does It usually... look like me?” He looks down at himself to punctuate the question. He looks back up. “I didn’t want you to be out here alone. And I wanted to thank you. For setting my arm.” Richie clenches his jaw. He’s getting less and less sure that this is a trick by the minute. Is Pennywise really this good of an actor?

When Richie doesn’t reply, Eddie looks hurt. “Rich, why would It look like me? Are you... scared of me?” Richie’s grip on the fence rod loosens. Shit. He’s messed up. 

Another voice comes from behind him. 

“He _is_ scared of you, Eddie. He’s scared of _us.”_ Richie and Eddie turn around to see an identical Eddie behind them. Well, not _identical,_ exactly — his eyes were a glowing yellow. Eddie’s breathing picks up, and he fumbles for his inhaler. 

“Don’t worry, Eddie. I’m not here for you.” It takes a slow step towards Richie. “But Richie and I haven’t had _nearly_ enough fun.” Richie holds up the fence rod with a trembling hand. 

“Oh yeah? I say we’re _done.”_ Richie grits out. His heart is pounding. It laughs using Eddie’s voice, the sound echoing across the house. It glances at Eddie, who’s taking frantic hits off his inhaler. 

“But _Richie,”_ It continues, stepping closer so they’re face to face, “We could have so much fun together. Remember, how we had fun?” He strokes a finger over Richie’s face, and he shudders. 

“Richie, kill It!” Eddie shouts, finally having gotten his breath back. It laughs again, taunting and high-pitched. 

“Oh, he won’t kill me.” It blows a kiss at him. “Not while I look like this.” It slides a hand over Richie’s shoulder and down his back. It hooks his chin over Richie’s shoulder to look at Eddie. “He doesn’t have the _guts.”_ Richie wants to argue, but he can’t. He knows It’s right. He can’t kill someone that looks like Eddie, even if it _is_ a demonic clown. Fuck. 

Richie feels It’s arms snaking around his shoulders, It’s breath on his cheek. “Get _off_ me,” he grits out, trying to sound tough but mostly sounding like he’s about to cry. 

“That’s not what you said before,” It teases. Richie tenses up. Oh God no. It’s going to tell Eddie. It’s going to ruin his life, and then probably kill him as soon as It finishes.

“Shut _up, shut up,”_ Richie says desperately, trying to wrench It’s arms off of him and failing. They’re locked on like iron chains. He fumbles for his fence rod, but it falls from his grip, clattering on the floor. Oh God. 

“Why, Richie? You don’t want Eddie to know?” It makes a surprised face. “Is it a _secret?_ I love secrets.” It peers over at Eddie. “Don’t you, Eddie?”

Eddie looks over at Richie. He’s trembling all over, and his words come out quiet. “What’s he talking about, Rich?”

Richie bites his tongue so hard he tastes blood. It looks delighted. “Cat got your tongue, Richie?” It giggles. “That’s okay. We can just show him.” Oh no. Oh God no. 

His muscles move without his permission, It leading him to sit on the floor. It straddles his lap, unbuttons his pants, and slides a hand up his shirt. “Do you like this, Richie?” Richie tries desperately to remember that the Eddie on his lap is fake, that the real Eddie is over in the corner having a panic attack. But it’s hard to remember, when fake-Eddie looks so _real,_ and feels so _good._ Still. “No,” he spits out. It shakes its head, digging claws into Richie’s chest. Richie can feel blood dripping down his skin. 

“I don’t like _liars,_ Richie,” It says. “Try again.”

Richie can feel tears rolling down his cheeks. He’s going to die here, on the dirty floor in this dirty house, with all of his dignity gone and a fake Eddie in his lap. 

“I hate you,” he mumbles. “That’s the truth.” 

It peers at him through Eddie’s eyes. “Well, that stings.” It leans forward, kisses the corner of his mouth. Bites it. Richie feels blood. “But that’s not the truth I wanted.”

It turns its head to look at Eddie. “I’ll tell you what,” It says to Richie, “you tell Eddie your secret and I won’t kill him. Just you.” 

Richie doesn’t even need to think about it. He turns his head towards Eddie, meets his eyes. “I’m in love with you,” he whispers. “I love you so much.” There’s a mixture of tears and blood running down his face. He feels disgusting. Eddie probably hates him, thinks he’s dirty and gross. 

Eddie’s eyes are wide. His mouth is hanging open, just a little. “Richie,” he starts, “I—”

“Get _off_ of him, you pervert!” Both of the boys turn to see Stan burst through the door, closely followed by the others. Fake Eddie startles and falls off of Richie, sprawling on the floor. He quickly turns back into Pennywise, and the Losers yell at him until he crawls back down his well. 

Stan reaches down to pull Richie off the floor. He yanks him into a tight hug. “Fell for the same trick twice, huh? Dumbass,” he says lowly. When Richie pulls back to look at him, though, his eyes are kind. 

Richie chuckles weakly. “Took you long enough to get here,” he replies, not answering the question. He’s very determinedly avoiding looking at Eddie, who’s across the room working on breathing exercises with Bill. 

Stan shrugs. “The door was locked. Mike had to kick it down.” Richie takes a second to picture that in his mind, blinking in surprise. He glances over at Mike, who’s gently helping Eddie off the floor. Stan follows Richie’s gaze. “So, does he... _know?”_ he whispers, voice low. 

Richie swallows roughly. “Yeah. He knows.”

Stan furrows his brow. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

Richie looks at Eddie, then back at Stan. “Nothing.”

Richie leaves the house on Neibolt, and doesn’t look back. 

***

“Richie, dear, your friend’s here!” 

Richie grunts noncommittally. Stan had dropped by no less than six times in the last two days to tell him he should talk to Eddie. Richie’s sick of it. What does Stan know? That fucker didn’t have a romantic bone in his body. 

“Tell Stan to get out, Mom,” he yells back. “I don’t feel too good.” He attempts a loud fake cough. 

“It’s not Stan, honey,” she replies. 

Who was it, then? Bill? Bev? Richie could count on one hand the number of people who cared about him enough to visit his house. 

His musings are cut short by a tentative knock on his open eyes, followed by the appearance of big brown eyes and a bright red fanny pack. Fuck. 

“Can I come in, Rich?” Eddie sounds scared. Nervous. 

Richie swallows around a lump in his throat, sitting up on his bed and trying to straighten out the wrinkles in his shirt. He stops abruptly when he realizes how pathetic he looks, trying to make himself presentable for Eddie like a girl heading out to her first date. Not that this was a date, or anything. 

Fuck. 

“Of course, Eds,” Richie says tentatively, trying to gauge Eddie’s mood. His heart falls when there’s no rebuttal to the nickname. Eddie just nods and sits gingerly on the chair by Richie’s desk. 

There’s an uncomfortable silence, where neither one of them knows what to say. Richie’s getting more and more sure with each passing moment that Eddie’s here to let him down gently, and then possibly never speak to him again. He feels tears burning at the corner of his eyes, and tries his hardest to hold them back. That would be the last thing he needs right now, to cry in front of Eddie like a fucking baby. 

Richie’s mouth opens without his permission. “So, dying love confessions. Not so fun when you don’t actually die, am I right?” He immediately wants to smack himself. If there was ever a time he desperately needed a brain-to-mouth filter, it was right fucking now. 

Eddie glares at him. “Don’t say that, you asshole.” Richie nods, agreeing with him. _Don’t say that, trashmouth._ He glues his mouth shut and waits for Eddie to talk. 

And waits. 

Has the tick of his alarm clock always been that deafeningly loud?

Richie clears his throat uneasily. “Soo. You gonna say anything, or are we just gonna sit here all day?” Jesus. He’s such a jerk. He should literally never speak again. 

Eddie shifts in his seat. “Sorry, Richie. I’m just... nervous.” Nervous. Nervous like It had been, all those weeks ago down by the stream. 

Richie narrows his eyes. “Tell me something only you would know.” He’s like ninety-nine percent sure this is pure Eddie Kaspbrack sitting in his bedroom, but it never hurts to double check. Especially when It is still out there somewhere, being generally not-dead and doing whatever it is that demonic space clowns do on their days off. 

Eddie looks startled for half a second before a look of understanding crosses his face. “Um, on my birthday last year, you made me a mixtape called ‘Eddie’s Rockin’ Tunez.’ And, um, I listen to it every night before bed.” He shifts nervously on Richie’s squeaky desk chair, crossing and uncrossing his legs. 

Richie feels his face heat up. He remembers staying up for days to make that mixtape, agonizing over what songs Eddie would actually like and which ones were too cheesy. It was all worth it to see Eddie’s smile when Richie gave him the tape, though. Richie had figured he would listen to it for a week, tops, before tossing it out. But _every night?_ For a _year?_ Jesus. For the first time in months, Richie feels a little flutter of hope in his stomach. 

Richie clears his throat. “Alright, you pass the not-Pennywise check. Proceed.” He leans forward a little, elbows on his knees. Eddie’s chewing on his lip a little, a single stress line between his eyebrows. Richie wants to reach forward and smooth it out. His hand twitches. 

“Richie, you didn’t let me finish what I was going to say. In Neibolt.” Eddie sits up a little straighter, uncrossing his legs. 

Richie blinks. “Alright. What were you going to say?” He’s not quite sure he’s ready for the answer. 

Eddie pauses. “Richie, I — for a long time, I didn’t understand how I felt about you.” How he _felt?_ Richie’s pulse spikes. “I mean, you’re annoying as hell, and you have disgusting hygiene habits, and you drink milk right out of the _jug,_ for God’s sakes. And your jokes are terrible, and you do shitty voices for no reason.” 

Richie raises an eyebrow. “Wow. _Please,_ go on.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “ _But._ You make me laugh. And you don’t treat me like I’m made of glass. And, you’re nice to everyone, even if you try to hide it. You’re _smart.”_ Spots of color rise to Eddie’s cheeks. “And, um. You’re pretty cute, too. I guess.” 

If Richie was hooked up to a heart monitor, it would be going absolutely batshit crazy. 

Eddie smiles a little lopsidedly, and looks up at him. He stands up, and Richie watches helplessly as he comes to sit next to him on the bed. Eddie covers Richie’s hand with his own, entangling their fingers. 

“So I guess what I’m trying to say, Richie —is that I love you, too.”

It’s the sweetest sentence Richie’s ever heard. 

  
  


***

A few years later, Richie has a writing assignment for school. _Describe one or more of your fears, and ways in which you can overcome them._ Richie is still scared of a lot of things. Spiders. Werewolves. The dark. _Clowns._

He’s scared of being lonely, of not having meaningful relationships in his life. He’s scared of living a dull life, of not making an impact on the world around him. 

But. He thinks about the Losers club, about unbreakable bonds and sworn oaths, about nights of laughter and dumb drinking games. The panicked fighting of an inherent evil and the quiet clean-up that came afterwards. He thinks about Eddie, about shared kisses and quiet nights and fumblings in the dark where neither one of them quite knew what they were doing, but it didn’t matter. Dates at the Aladdin where they sat in the back row and held hands in the dark. The time when Eddie came with him to come out to his parents, and the sense of overwhelming relief he felt afterwards. He thinks about the bone-deep ache he feels for these people, the light that they have shined in his life. The empty hole they have filled. 

And there is one thing Richie Tozier knows for certain. 

He is no longer scared of love. And he never will be again. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> There it is! I hope you enjoyed, and please feel free to leave comments, kudos, constructive criticism, all that jazz.
> 
> Also, side note: I love the idea of Richie and Eddie getting into the habit of telling each other random facts about themselves every time they meet up, just to make sure it’s really them :,)
> 
> Be on the look out for an update to Spider-Man: The Long Road Home! 
> 
> -H


End file.
